


To Feel Something

by onionrings_andhoneymustard



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionrings_andhoneymustard/pseuds/onionrings_andhoneymustard
Summary: T.K. hadn't been trying to kill himself. He had just wanted a break, for everything to stop long enough he could catch his breath and think straight. He'd barely had time to process any of it before he was being plucked out of New York and dropped into Austin.Mostly canon-compliant through 1x03, and then it diverges. Speculative writing for 1x01 scene we didn't see.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	To Feel Something

T.K. hadn't been trying to kill himself.

He had just wanted a break, for everything to stop long enough he could catch his breath and think straight. He had just needed a reprieve from the feelings of embarrassment and humiliation that had threatened to swallow him whole. He hadn't wanted to _die_. Well, not literally.

He had been so full of hope, as he'd said the little speech he'd memorized and asked the question he was sure was going to close the space in between them. (Because T.K. isn't stupid; he'd known something was off, he just hadn't thought it was _that_.)

The first thing Alex had said after T.K. had finished was, "I really wish you'd let me go first." with a look in his eyes that made T.K.'s stomach drop and a dull ringing start up in his ears, almost drowning out _Mitchell_ , and _It was just coffee, at first_ , and _I would be doing a disservice to myself - to both of us - if I didn't explore this_.

"Did you sleep with him?" He'd managed to ask when Alex stopped talking. He hadn't been able to look at him, in case the words on Alex's face didn't match the ones from his mouth.

Alex had said, "No. I didn't want to cheat."

Nodding, T.K. had pushed his chair back and said, "So you just broke my heart instead." and walked out. There was no bill to pay; the waiter hadn't even brought the basket of bread yet.

He hadn't had cash on him, so he'd used the ring to buy the oxy. The exchange rate, he'd mused to himself, wasn't terrible.

Back in his apartment, he'd lost track of the number of pills. He hadn't been trying to kill himself, he'd just wanted everything to stop. And it did, for a little while.

And then it started back up again in a rush, shame burning white hot as his father held him, the taste of vomit sharp on the back of his tongue. He'd barely had time to process any of it before he was being plucked out of New York and dropped into Austin.

None of it feels entirely real - the change in scenery, his colleagues, the hot cop who'd hit him up one of his first nights here. He sees everything happening around him, but he doesn't feel like he's entirely there; it's like he's trying to move through honey, sluggish and disoriented, limbs filled with sand and vision greyed out. It would suck, if T.K. could manage to feel anything.

It isn't hard to start the fight, to goad the other man into punching him. In fact, it's laughably easy. The fist connecting with his mouth feels like relief; the blood on his tongue - from where his teeth have cut the inside of his cheek - tastes like victory. And T.K. hits back. He feels the bruises bloom across his knuckles almost instantly and for a brief second, he feels a spark inside.

The fight is over all too quickly. There's security and the cops and T.K. sitting in the back of a police SUV with handcuffs circling his wrists. The comedown from the fight is rapid and brutal, the sudden absence of adrenaline leaving him with an ache in his stomach.

He sees the hot cop at the station. The hot cop with a movie-star smile, who knows how to cook and sees having dinner with T.K. as an event worthy of champagne - as a _celebration_. It makes his stomach drop in a different way when the hot cop - Carlos, he reminds himself, despite how he's saved in his phone - when Carlos says he should _talk to someone about why he felt compelled to do something so suicidal_.

There's a sour taste along the edges of his tongue and it feels like ripping off a fresh scab when T.K. lets Carlos in on two of the worst experiences of his life and how his world has lost its color. To his credit, Carlos appears properly contrite. T.K. might have been acting like a dick, but it hadn't been personal.

When T.K. leaves the station, he thinks that's it; that it's the last he'll hear from Carlos. He gets a text from _Hot Cop_ two days later, asking him to the honky-tonk for a game of darts and _the best buffalo wings you can get for cheap_. He says yes.

They play darts and joke around and lick sauce from their fingers. It's fun, T.K. thinks to himself. _I'm having fun right now._ and it feels odd for that realization to be unusual.

Carlos kisses him in the parking lot, backed up against his truck. He smells like cinnamon and soap, his fingertips rough where they slip beneath T.K.'s shirt and brush against his hip. T.K. loses himself in it, just a little. Lets his mind go fuzzy and his hands roam over Carlos' chest and arms. They kiss for a long time. They kiss through Carlos undoing his jeans and slipping his hand inside, soft moans getting trapped in T.K.'s throat. They kiss until T.K.'s mouth goes slack, forehead resting against Carlos' as he comes. And they kiss again until T.K.'s recovered enough to climb inside the truck so Carlos can drive him home.

There's another date after that, and another one, and another one; they add up until T.K. loses count of how many. Throughout each one, Carlos is soft and steady and safe. It's too bad, T.K. thinks, that Carlos is competing with Alex for T.K.'s time and attention. Until the day Carlos isn't.

It's 11:00pm when T.K. turns to Carlos and says, "I haven't thought about Alex at all today."

There's enough light filtering in through the bedroom window that he can see Carlos smile. "Except for right now?"

"Except for right now." And it's a beautiful feeling, that realization. 

He thinks about Alex the next day, as he makes a list of things he wants to do and has been putting off in favor of mourning the loss of their relationship - books to read, places to go and things to see, and new recipes to try. He thinks about Alex most days after that, too, as he marks the items on his list off. But the feelings change.

The sorrow and anger fade out; they're replaced by gratitude and relief as he morphs into a version of himself that makes him feel whole and shiny, like a newly-minted penny.

Carlos is there for each new endeavor T.K. tries, and each change that T.K. makes for himself, and each new recipe T.K. spends hours preparing. He's there when T.K. rolls his ankle sprinting down a hill, and when T.K. watches the entire catalog of _Star Wars_ movies one weekend, and he's there as T.K. decides being a guitar player isn't in the cards for him.

And he's there when T.K. digs his toes into the sand and watches the sunrise over the ocean, painting the sky in dusty orange and shimmering gold. Their hips bump together as T.K. slides an arm around his waist and quietly says, "It's beautiful." And then, "No grey at all."

**Author's Note:**

> "Ever since I’ve gotten here, it’s just grey. I just feel numb, all the time. I guess I just wanted to feel something." -T.K. Strand, "Texas Proud"


End file.
